


Work of Art

by LightRain_09



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Thrawn - Timothy Zahn
Genre: F/M, Pastels, Thrawn Appreciation Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-04-01 04:03:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13990071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LightRain_09/pseuds/LightRain_09
Summary: Working off a prompt of the same name as the title. There are pastels.





	Work of Art

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FeartheTalon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeartheTalon/gifts).



> For FeartheTalon (mouzas on Tumblr)

Karyn Faro had always considered herself to be a practical woman. She had never been taken in by a pretty face. Or at least never that alone. She required more than a nice view from her lovers. Not that there was anything wrong with a perfectly formed ass, but she would take respect over the most flawless backside the galaxy had to offer any day. Respect and an interesting mind.

It had been the latter that had pulled her in at first. Most people questioned what an alien was doing so high up in the ranks of the Imperial Navy. They all wanted to know why and they had come up with no shortage of theories, each more idiotic than the last: political agendas, social experiments, a manifestation of the Emperor’s strange sense of humor.

Faro had never cared about the why. She had only ever wanted to know how. How had someone so… unconventional managed to gain command of her ship? The first answer that had come to mind- the simplest and most believable- was that he had bribed or blackmailed his way through the ranks. It was a stupid tactic, one that would have gained him several enemies and no one willing to stand by him when those enemies wanted payback. Stupid. And disappointing. But the galaxy never seemed to run low on either. 

Thankfully, the disappointment had been short-lived. If there was one thing she had learned faster than anything else about him, it was that he was far from stupid. Which had left only one option. He was where he was because he had earned it. And that in itself had been remarkable enough to gain her attention. 

Tangling her fingers in his dark hair, Karyn tugged. He paused, his mouth and tongue and fingers going still as he processed the silent command. The speed of his thoughts was almost an audible thing and she shivered from it. After a moment he shifted marginally, powerful shoulders rolling beneath her thighs as he readjusted his position and settled again. The sharp thrust of his fingers accompanied an almost lazy drag of his tongue across her, and Faro’s brain short-circuited. She pulled in a ragged gasp and grinned lazily at the ceiling, smoothing her hand over his head in way of praise as he found his rhythm again.

_Yes,_ she thought. Would have said it aloud but verbal communication was beyond her at the moment. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to need it. 

_Yes. That._

It was funny, though, when she thought about what had finally landed her here. It hadn’t been his accomplishments or his brilliance, or even his military record. No, she had been taken in by something much more… unexpected.

She rolled her head to the side to seek out the culprit. Across the room, a half-finished art piece sat on an easel. It was a depiction of a place she had never seen. Magnificent ice formations rose like talons up towards a sky vibrant with colors that seemed to sway and move on the paper. It was a place from his home planet, he had told her. A place he missed. A place he clearly loved.

But it wasn’t the art itself that had done this. She had seen several of his pieces before. On those nights when she had stayed late in his office, long after their conversations had gone beyond the bounds of what was strictly professional, he had shown her pieces he had done. Countless pieces. Dozens. But until tonight, she had never seen the process.

She hadn’t really expected him to agree when she had asked. She knew the creative process could be a personal one, and many guarded it carefully. But she should have known better. That was another wonderful thing about him: he was free from the insecurities that hindered most. And he had agreed without reservation.

So she had come here tonight eager and curious, prepared to watch him for hours. To sit in silence while he worked and observe the little things he himself likely wasn’t even aware of. She had been ready for all of that. But she hadn’t been ready for those. 

There were several of them scattered on the small collapsible table beside the easel. A few had even fallen to the floor. Little colored sticks, not quite chalk but not quite paints either. Pastels, he had called them. And they were beautiful. Rich tones in countless shades, there were so many she couldn’t have come up with a name for all of them if the entire galaxy had depended on it. She had come to watch those colors take form and life on the paper. 

What she had ended up watching was the way they came to life on _him_. 

And they were still there.

She glanced down. Stained fingers traced wandering patterns across her breasts, the random passes over her nipples so casual she could almost believe they were a mistake if she hadn’t known him. His blue skin contrasted starkly against her own, and that itself was fascinating enough, but there were also the colors. Reds. Purples. Greens. Yellows. Even blues light or dark enough to show up against the shade that was his own. So many colors. More than she had ever...

He closed his lips around her and sucked. Faro cried out. The vision of that beautiful pastel stained hand blurred. She threw her head back, mouth gaping, and when her vision returned her entire existence narrowed down to one, simple thing: a small smear of color on the skin of her inner thigh.

The colors weren’t just on him now. He was giving them to her, too. Painting her the way he would his paper. Turning her into a work of art.

That coiling, building thing inside her finally snapped. She screamed, the sound swallowed up by the rushing pound of her own heart in her ears, and waves of pleasure racked her body as colors danced in the bright surge of oblivion.


End file.
